


to the victor come the spoils

by Anonymous



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Humiliation, Mentions of chastity, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Names, Pet Sociopath, Praise Kink, Ransom Drysdale is a Reformed Asshole, Ransom's POV, Spoilers, love that tag hah, no explicit aftercare, references to caning, role play, to say Marta is fond of bossing around the trust fund fratboy would be an understatement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Her house, her rules. He's not likely to forget that anytime soon, but if he does, she'll remind him.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 12
Kudos: 334
Collections: Anonymous Fics





	to the victor come the spoils

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Hunger That's Insatiable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21847627) by [impertinence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinence/pseuds/impertinence). 



> heavily inspired by both the linked fic and this one https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702643  
> it seems we're all 100% on board the 'Marta doms Ransom' and he really likes it a lot bc he needs it Train.  
> choo choo bitches!!! not so major spoilers for knives out but like... its a whodunnit and if you dont wanna know you shouldnt read this or any other fics without seeing the movie first lmao.
> 
> unless you're horny and don't care, in which case, mood.

Ransom walks in to find Marta just as he left her that morning, hard at work in the kitchen, dusting things, tending a coffee machine, while the finest china cup rests daintily on the top of the counter beside the stove. 

This is the kind of  _ work _ she’s used to doing, won’t let him hire a maid for it, she even turned up her nose at him and made him sleep on the couch for a night from the mere suggestion. 

Ransom learned his lesson about three seconds after the words left his mouth. Laying in the dark, achingly hard, hands making fists under the duvet, he listened to her moving above him in his grandfather’s room, well, hers now, three years since, and fell asleep to dreams of her smiling. 

“Honey I’m home.” He drawls. Working out in the garden hardly classifies as being far away from her, but any moment Ransom isn’t around Marta he sort of feels dizzy, disoriented. She puts him back on his heels, correcting his axis. 

Marta gives him a look that sends a spear of heat down his spine. Her eyes are half lidded, plush lips curving into a smirk.

“Oh, my darling husband, I’m so glad you could return to me.”

It’s almost like she suspects him of something, but that’s the sort of game they play. 

Getting married had been his idea of a joke, after getting slapped across the face when he sought her out the second he was able, apologies that he half meant on his tongue, but now he’s starting to like being called that. 

Pet names were never his kink, not really, but then again, Marta is the one who pried him open and left him bloody and raw on the floor of her bedroom. She figured out how badly he needed to be  _ told _ what to do for… certain things. 

The joke’s on him, Ransom thinks.

He sheds his coat, pulls off his muddy boots at the door, drops his gardening gloves on the side table, then walks over to her in just his sock feet, where she stands leaning against the island. She’s demure as ever, contently playing housewife, to everyone who might look in from the window and see her. Rich chestnut strands, streaked with gold, expensively dyed and cut, her hair is up off her shoulders, but only held back in a low ponytail, as wisps of new bangs skitter over her forehead. Ransom’s mouth goes dry, because frankly he wishes she’d have kept her old style, but she deserves to spoil herself, since he can’t, she has to make do with her own money. 

The only makeup she’s wearing is a light dusting of blush, some mascara and a nude colored lipstick. 

He leans in close enough to catch a waft of something that smells like vanilla cupcakes. Hell, he didn’t even know that was possible for makeup to be so delicious. Considering it has to be on her mouth, might as well be pleasant.

This is far more than she ever wore as grandad’s nurse, but Ransom appreciates the change. She’s just as alluring, regardless. Ransom wants to crowd her against the nearest vertical surface, kiss her and nudge her over, feel up under the cute little sundress she wears under her ruffled apron, see if there’s a chance she’s not wearing any panties. 

But Marta squashes that idea promptly. She’s the boss.

“I kind of missed you. Did you miss me? Prove it, won’t you baby?” Marta croons, flipping her duster, and tapping Ransom’s shoulder with the handle, guiding him down to the floor with a firm press. 

He kneels before her, his goddess, and he blinks up at her, swallowing thickly. “What would you have me do?” 

The  _ Mistress _ , is more implied than not, and Ransom hasn’t ever uttered the word, so far, six months into their little arrangement, but he would, if she just told him to. Marta shifts the lone slim rod of wood to underneath his chin, so that Ransom is forced to look up at her, back arched, neck straining. He gulps again. His mind is racing, wondering if this is just a prop, a display of her power, or if she’s going to tell him to turn over and have to let her shove it up his ass. 

Ransom blinks. “Why, I want you to eat me out, show me a good time, like the wicked boy that you are, Ransom.”

It’s like she’s said the magic words. He loves nothing better, this is basically a reward for him.

So he nods, and just before he closes his eyes, he leans forward for Marta to flip up her skirt, and exactly as he’d hoped, she’s not got a single scrap of fabric to hide her glistening pink cunt. Ransom’s watering mouth makes contact, and he licks and sucks at her like she’s the nectar of life, the food for the gods. He moans into her, feeling his cock aching in his jeans, as if he hasn’t been hard for her all morning and night, since before she started letting him do this. Ransom gulps.

Marta’s thighs quiver, quaking around him, and the one leg she has draped over his shoulder nudges against his lower back, her heel digging into his spine, it’s enough to keep him there, remind him to stay steady. Ransom firms his tongue, delving into her folds, adding a hint of teeth, which never fails to make her shudder, and grab for his dirty blond hair. 

Just as he likes. 

The color he used to have it dyed he couldn’t really go out and get done while on house arrest, so it’s long since faded. Ransom suspects by the time he’s forty, he’ll be pure white like his mom, or dusty grey like his piece of shit father. 

Either way, there’s a better chance of him pulling it off.

Marta’s blunt nails scrape over his scalp, and Ransom loosens another moan against her, the sound vibrating into her flesh, enhancing everything he does with his mouth. “I think I’m good and ready for you now, darling.” 

He hears her murmuring, with only a hint of a teasing bite. So he backs away, very reluctant, feeling the wetness of her arousal coating his face, as he licks his lips, all he can taste is Marta. Ransom stopped wiping his mouth off when she grabbed him in the middle of doing it, her thumb digging into his wrist, making his entire arm numb from hitting a pressure point. He’d almost come again from that, and the look she gave him said it all. “Savor it.” Marta had said.

So he does.

Ransom gets to his feet slowly, watching as she pulls off her apron, just momentarily, to strip out of the sundress, giving him the shortest flash of a glimpse of those perfect breasts of hers, brown nipples already hardened into perfect buds, a good handful, sweet as sin in his mouth, he remembers well. The one time last month she allowed him to bury his face between them, it felt like being granted his first drink of water after crawling through a desert over broken glass.

Marta puts the apron back on, just that, with the front lace flap covering her sex, his time allotment having expired to look at her there, and she turns around, bending over the island just like he’d fantasized about earlier, as well as in the office. 

Ransom didn’t have previous permission to jerk off in the bathroom, before going out to work on the grounds, so he suffered throughout the day with a half hard cock, which he kept tucked into his waistband, pressed firmly under his belt, and he pretended that was fine. It was a nice bit of stimulation, far more pleasurable than being locked up in his cage. 

Now, Marta wiggles her ass at him, reminding Ransom of the current objective. He lowers the zip on his jeans and fishes his cock out, not bothering to undress any further. She’s not looking at him to appreciate it, but besides that, she’s the one who’s going to tell him when he can get naked. 

“Fuck me darling, fuck me like you mean it. Like you missed me.” Her short, practical, but gleaming ruby red nails click on the surface of the counter, as she reaches out, stretching flat to provide him with the best access to her wet cunt, and Ransom groans at the sight. Marta hasn’t been outside as much as him, since he’s been given all of the gardening duties, so right now, her skin is a touch lighter than he’s ever seen, yet still more of a golden brown than he’ll ever get, and Ransom wants nothing more than to put his mouth over every inch of it. She calls him a spoiled brat, says his annoyingly handsome face is pale as a sheet of paper, like all the checks his parents used to write him. 

Ransom doesn’t argue with her assessment, ever, and just grins back at her words. “But you like my crystal blue eyes, don’t you?” Marta gives him a slap across the face for that, “I don’t keep you around for you to spout lazy poetry at me.” His smile never once wavers. Ransom shakes himself out of his day dreaming. He lines up his cock, hands shaky, then starts the slow press in. The hot wet clench of her cunt on his aching flesh is too much, too good and overwhelming. 

His knees don’t give out, but barely. 

Ransom braces both hands flat on the counter, wary of touching her too much without explicit orders, and he starts moving. To be able to be precise, with steady thrusts that make Marta let out a gasp on every downstroke, it takes Ransom true effort, he’s gritting his teeth, and bracing for impact with every slap of skin against skin. 

Sex like this with her is a privilege, one he’s never really appreciated with anoyone else before, and now, after a decade of fucking people one way, he’s relearning everything. Ransom’s orgasm creeps up on him, crawling over his body, making his forehead grow damp with sweat from the effort of holding back, waiting for Marta to let out her trademark guttural moan, indicating she’s come. Sometimes she doesn’t even  _ tell _ him he can, but she also didn’t say he couldn’t. 

It’s not quick or quiet, but it is very obvious, when Ransom feels the telltale fluttering of her cunt, grasping his cock harder and harder, he can’t keep moving at this point, because she wants him to  _ stay _ put as she reaches her climax, and she shoves back against him  _ hard _ . He can look down and see her plush ass, how it flexes and begs for his hand to squeeze it as she comes, she’s doing this on purpose, because of course, Ransom isn’t allowed to even consider that. 

Then Marta cries out, fairly loud, enough to startle him, reminding him to be very very still as she uses his cock like just she would any other sex toy. He knows better than anyone what kind of collection she has amassed now. 

She might as well be an investor in Bad Dragon at this point. He bites his tongue to keep from grinning.

Ransom tries to steady his breath at the ensuing mental image that stirs up. Maybe next time she’ll tell him she wants to fuck him  _ like this _ , and there’s little chance he’ll last long enough, to keep from making a mess of the bed or the carpet. Marta finally stops shivering, and whines at him, “Are you ready baby? You wanna come for me?” Her voice may be soft, raspy even, but Ransom knows she’s not really  _ asking _ . He’s already got tears stinging his eyes in anticipation. 

To say he’s frantic after waiting this long would only be a shadow of the truth.

She’s telling him, and he’s seconds away from giving in, just shoving deeper inside her to take the consequences later.

He sighs, finally pulling back, letting his cock slip out of her, already mourning the loss of her comforting warmth, though as Marta turns around to face him, her chest heaves, and a flush has spread from her high, almost noble cheekbones all the way down her neck, below the line of the apron which hides her breasts from his view. “Yes. I need it. Please ma’am.” Ransom gasps. Marta smirks, and holds out her hand, taking his cock at once, still slick with her release, she tugs over his length firmly, swift strokes bringing him off with the experience that he knows she has. She knows him inside and out. 

Ransom locks his knees, breaking all the rules he knows about posture, coming with a ragged groan, spilling in white ropes over Marta’s fingers, splattering onto her apron, and then even some drips over her shoes. Kitten black heels, with open toes. “Oh baby, looks like you’ve made a bit of a mess.” Marta croons at him, and Ransom feels his face growing hot. “Yes ma’am. I apologize.” Marta clicks her tongue against her teeth. “Don’t be sorry baby, fix it.” 

She reaches up with her cum striped hand, and he opens his mouth obediently and lets her press those slim fingers between his lips. Ransom sucks every drop of his semen off, ensuring Marta’s crimson varnish is all that remains on her nails when she pulls her hand back. Her ring sparkles white and red with diamonds and rubies alike on her left hand. 

He picked it out, and she bought it. Ransom more than earned it that week, every night, getting his ass beat bloody.

“Now the shoes.” Marta tells him softly, her clean hand stroking through his hair, petting back the sweat damp waves from his forehead. She wipes away any remaining tears too, gently thumbing them from his cheeks, ending with a teasing stroke along the side of his square jaw. He can’t ever be self conscious on his knees when she’s gentle to him, like this. After. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Ransom says, slowly going to kneel before her again. 

“Good boy.” Marta tells him, a bonus, before he’s even done anything.

She has to let go of him as he bends down to clean up her toes and licks over the shiny rich leather of her shoe-tops. 

Marta has started to undo her apron again once he straightens back up, and he’s rewarded with the sight of her fully naked, with just a hint of a gleam between her thighs, evidence that she’s still quite aroused, and there’s more to come of their night together. “Ransom, go start up the laundry.” 

Marta holds out the apron, and he takes it, gripping it hard in his fist, crumpling the fabric. 

“Yes, of course.” Ransom answers her. She meets him in a ghost of a kiss when he returns to his full height, and he smiles into it, feeling how Marta strains up on her tiptoes. 

“Thanks for the afternoon delight, darling.” She whispers, making Ransom’s heart melt, while shivers erupt and tickle down his spine. “You’re welcome.”

Someday he’ll work up to calling her Mistress, but even he’s got things he’s a little shy about.

  
  



End file.
